Your cheeks are pink from the cold.

With the red jacket, the effect is sweet,

like a candy red riding hood.

As you walk you feel your feet in the shape of rocking-horse rockers, quick, rolling back and forth to meet the earth, the earth coming towards you and passing away behind, like an

endless cycle of friendships. You feel you are almost a waterbug upon the face of a pond, but not quite.

A car comes towards you and you ponder if it hits you.

I'd imagine your head would hit the ground rather hard.

There would be blood. But in the cold it would coagulate to a thin viscous ribbon trimming

the sidewalk,

the gutter,

like a ghastly wedding dress.

When you get home you remove your shoe to discover a hole in your favorite sock.